


A Guiding Hand

by Lady_T_220



Category: Cabin Pressure
Genre: BDSM, Blow Jobs, Chastity Device, Kinks, M/M, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Smut, Sub!Martin, Submission, Threesome - M/M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-06
Updated: 2014-02-06
Packaged: 2018-01-11 10:32:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,173
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1172008
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lady_T_220/pseuds/Lady_T_220
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A late summer evening, an invited guest, and chastity devices used as a gesture of affection.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Guiding Hand

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the Cabin Pressure fic prompt meme - [Original prompt](http://cabinpres-fic.dreamwidth.org/6034.html?thread=9996690#cmt9996690)

"Open your mouth."

The command is firm but warmly issued and Martin lets his lips part obediently, a broad palm pressing hot against his jaw as the faintest hint of soft pink tongue pokes forward over his teeth. The man standing in front of him fumbles one-handedly with the fly of his trousers, enthusiasm making his movements clumsy. 

On his knees, naked at his master's feet, Martin blinks up at Douglas with undisguised adoration. He waits patiently, attentive and ready as the sound of the zip finally cuts the afternoon silence. Trousers and underwear slide down to mid-thigh as Douglas grips his cock and gives it a perfunctory tug, the shaft already firm and engorged. Hand tight around the base, he nudges the sensitive head against the open warmth of Martin's slack mouth. 

The first taste of it is salty and sharp and it makes Martin's mouth water, the surge of desire it invokes forcing a tremulous sigh from between his lips. He wants it, but the hand on his jaw holds him steady as Douglas rubs just the very tip back and forth across the soft wetness of Martin's tongue. 

Martin's arms are bound behind him, wrist to elbow horizontally across his back, dark ropes stark against milk-pale skin. Douglas likes it best when he wears nothing but his bondage; a body to be used for pleasure, carefully hobbled with cuffs that bind his ankles to his thighs and kept humble with a locked cage of six concentric rings that squeeze firmly down the length of his cock. 

The device surrounding Martin's penis is designed specifically to be tight, each metal circle joined to its peers by a sturdy band of leather. The base culminates in a padlocked cuff that sits snugly behind his balls and, at the other end, rubbery spikes line the inside of the ring that closely encases the crown. All the while he remains soft it is bearable, but the points dig unpleasantly into the sensitive curve of Martin's cockhead every time he even slightly begins to harden. The discomfort of the constriction down his shaft and the sharp jab to his tender glans makes achieving an erection impossible, but just the barest swell of his prick hurts enough to make his eyes water even as it brings him back to obediently constant flaccidity. 

His master likes Martin's attention to be solely on his commands, unhindered by the physical distraction of his own arousal. In some part of his mind Martin knows the belt and rings around his genitals are there as a mercy. Without the option of seeking his own pleasure, fulfilling Douglas's orders becomes the only thing he needs to concern himself with. Released from the burden of self-control it is as much an aid to chastity as a token of his master's encompassing presence. The tightness may as well be his master's fingers; large, roughened hands wrapped securely around his cock in a perpetual, possessive embrace. 

Here, in this place, he is the claimed and kept property of another. He is Douglas's boy, bound as Douglas likes best, and his heart swells in his chest with love for his master; for the physical proof that he could ever feel so intensely wanted.

The firm tap of his master's fingers against his jaw brings him back to the present and Martin's lashes flutter, sweet mouth still artfully sculpted into a vision of temptation. There is a hunger in his belly for the flavour of lust-warm skin and he moans as Douglas pushes his cock deeper between the soft cushion of his lips. Martin finally closes his mouth at the unspoken command and sucks eagerly, Douglas's grip guiding his movement. The shaft is hot and full and freely erect in direct opposition to Martin's own captive sex. Long fingers stroke tenderly across his cheek and Martin's eyes slide closed to savour it, his tongue working lazily as he hums in anticipation of the promised mouthful of come. He knows he is salivating, hungry for that proof of his owner's satisfaction, and his cheeks hollow as he gives himself over to his task completely.

At his back, Martin's bound arms flex instinctively as he squirms against the limits of his restraints. The position pulls his shoulders back just enough to force him to thrust out his chest, the artfully contrived pose designed specifically to showcase a vulnerable canvas of delicate nipples and smooth belly, ripe for the tactile caress of his master's hands. It is a familiar position, his owner's favourite, defenceless and subservient and unable to refuse as Douglas's rough, wide palms finally tighten to cradle his head. The breadth of those familiar hands covers Martin's ears, thickness muffling the world outside as coarse fingers clutch demandingly into his hair, pulling him forward as the cock in his mouth slides deeper. 

Martin takes it eagerly, a sweet little mew escaping around the girth filling him, the bitter-sour musk of pre-come flooding his lips. 

"That's it," says his owner. "All the way down."

The first push into the back of his mouth makes Martin gag a little, the soft spasming of his oesophagus making the man above him tighten his hold, a low growl the only warning he gets before Douglas thrusts slow and deep all the way into Martin's throat. He holds like that for a moment, Martin's reddened, abraded lips stretched obscenely around the thick root before he just as smoothly draws out. 

Martin gasps for air the moment his mouth is empty, coughing weakly as his owner holds him steady. Douglas's exposed shaft is flushed and spit-slick, the head dark and fully revealed by the drawn-back foreskin. Douglas cups the end of his prick idly, thumb dragging over the slit to gather the dampness forming there before casually smearing it over Martin's cheek.

"You see?" Douglas comments. "He can take mine all the way down, I can't imagine he'd have any trouble with yours."

His master's attention shifts to their visitor. From his place sprawled indolently in one of their armchairs Herc makes a thoughtful noise.

"Well, I concede you may have a slight advantage on length," he admits eventually. "Very slight. Though I'm sure any fool can see mine is considerably thicker. And girth, need I remind you, counts for a great deal."

Douglas drags a hand affectionately through Martin's hair, tilting his boy's head back before pushing three splayed fingers between Martin's slack lips and dragging his jaw open as wide as it will go.

"I shouldn't flatter yourself too much, Hercules," Douglas sneers. The flat pads of his fingers rub teasingly over the sharp surface of Martin's teeth before he pulls his hand free, wiping it dry on his shirt. 

Martin shivers faintly, his thighs tensing as his cock twitches abortively between his legs. The chastity cage seems to coil tighter with every movement, shaft bulging obscenely between the unyielding metal rings. The mere urge to get hard hurts, the constriction setting up a deep, painful ache that surges into his gut viciously enough for the discomfort of it to overwhelm the desperate heat of long-denied pleasure.

"Very well," Herc replies. "As you seem so keen to show off, you can set the pace. Why don't you show me exactly what your boy can do?"

"Alright," Douglas agrees. He pulls his trousers up over his hips, leaving his hard cock poking through the open fly before he strokes Martin's cheek tenderly, tilting the boy's head up just far enough to see the glazed, accepting, blue-green of Martin's eyes. 

"Go and see to our guest," Douglas tells him. "I think he's been kept waiting long enough."

He gives Martin a little shove, pushing him in the direction of Herc's chair. It takes Martin's body a moment to remember how to move, bare knees shuffling on the living room carpet, woollen fibres prickling at his shins as he crawls forward awkwardly, far enough to dip his head and open his mouth to nuzzle obediently at the musky warmth of Herc's lap.

A low, faintly amused hum of enjoyment seems to reverberate in Martin's ears as he presses his face lovingly against the front of neatly tailored trousers. With his hands bound he can't undo the fastenings, but the heat and the rigid press of arousal is tangible even through Herc's clothing and Martin kisses it, lips rubbing against the firm outline beneath the layers. 

He feels his master drag lazy fingers through the tangled waves of his hair and Martin arches into the familiar caress. His momentary inattention is corrected with a tut and a press against the back of his head, his nose pushed firmly into Herc's crotch. Chastened, he opens his mouth again and offers up an apologetic lick, tongue lapping softly against the inseam.

Douglas pets him as he mouths at the fabric, Martin's saliva dampening the expensive cloth. The cotton makes his tongue fuzzy even as Herc's bitten-off grunt of appreciation sends a hot spike of pride deep into Martin's chest. 

"Oh, do look at him, Douglas," Herc purrs. "Nursing at it like he's searching for milk."

"He might do a great deal more," Douglas fires back, "If you actually unzipped enough to open your trousers. Or are you worried that you won't measure up?"

A gentle tug pulls Martin's head up, his owner's fingers stroking down beneath his ear to draw idle circles along his jaw. The touch urges Martin to lean back far enough to bare his pale throat and arched-out chest to Herc's ravenous gaze. Martin knows how he must look, bound and debauched, his pliant body exposed even as his sex is hobbled painfully by the restrictive humiliation of the chastity device. The paradox is an exquisite agony; a body intended for the pleasure of others yet denied the mercy of release for itself. He swallows roughly, shuddering in increasingly raw desire as the sound of a hastily dragged zip signals the resumption of his duties. 

"I have no such concerns, I can assure you," Herc says. "I was merely enjoying the build-up." He shoves his trousers down enough to free himself from the dampened bind of his underwear. "Not all of us are spoiled enough to have become complacent. It's rather charming, your boy hunting so sweetly for something to suck on. I was savouring the experience."

The words seem to sail over Martin's head, neither heard nor comprehended as Herc idly palms himself, cock rising thick and proud from the warmth of his lap. Martin watches, fascinated as the heavy girth of it slides luxuriously back and forth in Herc's grip, the darkened tip appearing and disappearing rhythmically with the roll of his foreskin. Martin can almost feel it in his mouth already, stretching his jaw, pressing his tongue down flat to accommodate the unfamiliar thickness of it.

As if sensing the intensity of Martin's focus, Herc smiles down at him implacably. "You'll have to be very good and open extra wide."

Martin can't help the breathy moan that falls from his lips, the promise in those words swelling into something tangible and thrilling as Douglas presses up firmly against his back. Martin is pinned between them this way, blocked in by his master's presence, familiar hands sinking into his hair. The feel of it is entirely encompassing, Master and Owner filling his senses before Douglas shoves Martin's knees wider with a booted foot and physically bends him forward to rub his face demeaningly against Herc's balls. With a fist knotted tight against Martin's scalp, Douglas's guidance controls what limited mobility Martin had left and he sinks willingly into loose passivity at its loss, letting himself be manipulated without a fight. 

There is nothing but the taste of salt and musk on his lips, the scratch of coarse hair against the side of his nose, and he lets out an abortive sigh at the delicious helplessness of it. The order to lick brings his tongue out to lap obediently at Herc's flesh, the gentleness of his swollen mouth guided to smear messy kisses up the length of the the presented shaft. 

His own sex remains a low, throbbing hurt that will not cease, locked away as an irrelevance, but still Martin gasps helplessly as he is dragged back just far enough to get a good look at the cock he is pleasuring. He strains forward to press his tongue to the tip of the exposed crown as Herc's fist wraps around the proffered shaft and squeezes it, pumping just long enough to push a slick bead of fluid out of the slit. It's a warm, slippery wetness that barely catches Martin's chin and he yelps as he's sharply yanked away from making contact. Lips pouted he whines, straining against the restrictive hold of his master as he's dragged back and down onto his heels, neck forcibly arched to present his upturned face for their guest's inspection.

Martin inhales deeply as his body is carelessly manhandled, the tip of that rigid cock so teasingly out of reach as Herc gets to his feet, taunting him with its proximity. Douglas's grip shifts, the tingling burn of Martin's abused scalp fading into a dull hum as controlling hands tighten on either side of his jaw instead. The grip pries his mouth open, hard thumbs pressing into his cheeks to prevent it closing. Herc dips the end of his prick playfully into Martin's open mouth, brushing his tongue with short flicks before withdrawing, denying him anything more than the briefest flutter of contact on each sweeping pass.

Martin can do no more than drool on it, hungry for the taste but denied the permission to move. He is engulfed by the spice and alcohol scent of Herc's cologne, a heavy musk of sex and arousal swelling beneath it. A steady pressure finally angles him up to engulf the first few inches and Martin groans in satisfaction, tongue dragging sensuously against taut skin as he sucks greedily. It's different to Douglas's; a little less bitter, a little more salt. An inquisitive knuckle drags warmly over his cheek, feeling the bulge of cock filling his mouth as it slides into him. 

Martin licks and rolls his tongue in time to the lazy rhythm of Douglas guiding his head back and forth. The taste of pre-come is strong and thick as it floods his mouth and Martin swallows it with satisfaction. The sound he makes is softer this time, his sigh muffled as spit leaks from around the seal of his lips. Herc's cock emerges on each upstroke wet and slippery until Douglas tilts Martin's head back once more and holds him still. This time when Herc wraps his fist around himself it is purely to rub his slicked, glistening penis lewdly across Martin's unresisting face.

Martin revels in it, baptised with pre-come, leaning into Douglas's solid grip as Herc smears damp trails across his cheeks and eyelids. His lips tingle from the friction and he knows his plush mouth must be red and glistening from use. With a long-fingered hand, Herc jabs the tip of his erection expectantly at Martin's slack lips again. The tinge of salt and bitter coffee is dutifully suckled from the slit, Martin mouthing delicately at the exposed head as best he can while Douglas holds him in place.

Herc inhales sharply as Martin's tongue flicks out, the soft pink muscle working daintily, dragging soft licks over the flesh his lips are unable to reach. Herc pumps his cock firmly once, and then twice, drizzling pre-come obligingly into Martin's waiting mouth. The taste is like a benediction as he swallows it, Herc's quiet gasp of satisfaction like a balm on Martin's senses. 

"Good boy," Douglas murmurs. "Look at your sweet mouth, all slick and warm for our visitor. But you know what he really wants, don't you?"

Martin hums in anticipation, a roll of tension twisting through his body to settle cruelly in the bound flesh between his legs. He wants to get hard so much, rubber spikes digging a constellation of sharp pressure-points into the scarlet hot glans until the pain is almost more than he can bear.

"Come on, now," Douglas murmurs. "Let's show him how good your throat is, too."

Martin can feel himself trembling in desperation, breath catching as Herc drops down comfortably into his seat once more. Sweat prickles teasingly down Martin's back, his body familiar enough with this to slacken his jaw in readiness. The press down, when it comes, is firm and inescapable. Thumbs press in tightly behind his ears to angle his chin out, the ready girth of Herc's cock stretching his lips wide. The tip of it, fat and sensitive, slides wetly to the back of Martin's mouth, almost far enough to make him gag before Douglas stills him, the intrusion causing him to release the quiet, helpless little choking noise he knows his Master is so very fond of hearing.

Martin's throat clicks as he tries and fails to swallow, saliva gathering quickly across his tongue, making him drool. He hears Douglas growl deeply at the sight, the familiar sound the only warning he gets that he should pull in a long, hungry breath. He inhales sharply and, lungs filled, it is only a second before he is pushed down forcibly onto the rigid length awaiting him. 

This time he feels Herc's cock slide deeper, the wide crown shoved carelessly past his tonsils and Martin has no option but to swallow it, the length almost overwhelming in its entirety. Desperate gulps help to prevent the gag reflex but in turn it only lodges the hard, ready shaft more fully into his fluttering throat. The thickness of it fills him, clogging his airway while the hand pushing heavily on the back of his head prevents him from raising up more than a millimeter. 

He hears Herc curse even as Martin's face is smothered in his shifting lap, nose pressed into the wiry brush of pubic hair as Herc instinctively bucks up towards the tightness engulfing him. Unable to draw breath Martin can't help but struggle. His fingers curl, tightening against his elbows at the desperate sensation of being so trapped. Martin can feel his lungs burning for oxygen as his heartbeat increases, the flutter of his spasming throat caressing Herc's cock. The man above him lets out a low, ragged noise, strong hands cupping over Douglas's controlling grip as he ruts tightly into Martin's trembling throat.

Martin can feel himself growing dizzy, almost frantic, even as his own neglected cock twitches futilely in its prison. There's a faint sheen of grey just edging into the corners of his vision before fingers tighten in his hair and he is yanked back for a hard-earned breath. The shaft pulls free of his throat but not entirely out of his mouth, Douglas holding him just close enough to let it rest heavy and thick across his tongue instead.

Martin gasps and huffs frantically through his nose, lips slack around the broad column of flesh, eyes watering as he pants heavily past the intrusion filling his mouth. He swallows as best he can, sucking down the flavour of arousal that lingers like salt on his teeth, salivating messily and barely catching his breath before his jaw is cupped in a wide palm and he is forced forward onto the rigid phallus a second time.

He can feel the thickness of it, the stretch of the shaft sliding back down into his aching throat, his glossy lips kissing the warm, slightly musky skin at the root of Herc's cock. The man's balls are drawn up tight, pressing against Martin's chin, Herc's muscular hips rolling slowly as his palm caresses the sharp line of Martin's cheekbone. Martin's face feels hot, possessed, his lungs aching and heart skipping even as he surrenders to his fate.

Martin's eyes flutter open to blink up at the man thrusting into him, gaze watery and meek, his throat bobbing frantically as he lets out a faint, choked gurgle. The pliant passivity of it, the helplessness at being used, or perhaps just the unquestioning acceptance in Martin's gaze seems to trigger something in Herc. He lets out a tense hiss through clenched teeth, rocking his hips forward sharply as he ruts greedily into the warm tightness around him. Trapped between the body of his Master and Herc's solid, demanding thrusts there is nowhere for Martin to go and it's barely a moment later that the shaft in his mouth pulses, the thick feeling of come shooting directly down his throat sudden enough to make him flinch.

Douglas jerks Martin's head back sharply as Herc finally curses through his release, the action fast enough to ensure that the majority of Herc's release winds up spurting out across Martin's face and opened mouth. Martin gasps and coughs helplessly, spit and semen dribbling down his chin as Herc wraps a fist around himself and pumps frantically to milk the tail end of his completion. The tip of his cock glistens in the low evening sunlight, and for a moment time hangs suspended, slit connected to Martin's scarlet lips by a thick, translucent string.

Douglas pats Martin's cheek dismissively. "Good. Now lick him clean, there's a boy."

Douglas releases his grip and Martin drops down weakly onto his heels, chest heaving as he regains his breath. Another sharp nudge gets him moving and he slides the tip of his tongue out to lick gingerly at his slick, sticky lips, capturing the suspended ribbon of come still tying him to Herc's cock before leaning forward to mouth at the gradually wilting shaft. His tongue glides over the end, lapping humbly at the crown and Martin closes his eyes as he swallows, sinking into his task. He lets the end of Herc's cock slip back into his mouth so he can suck on it more easily, sliding his tongue under the slowly unfurling foreskin to clean the lingering traces of orgasm from the tender head.

Herc tenses in pleasure at Martin's attentions, sensitive despite the gentleness, hissing at each lick on his slowly waning erection. He watches through narrowed eyes until Martin pulls off, sliding down to lap worshipfully at his balls instead, licking up the damp traces of his own drool before softly kissing the delicate flesh in gratitude. 

His chin is still smeared with slowly congealing ejaculate, and when he finally leans back he is rewarded by his Master's fingers dragging through the wetness clinging to his jaw. A firm caress spreads it purposefully across Martin's cheeks, rubbing it into his face as if anointing him with it, and Martin sinks limply against Herc's thigh in bliss. He feels marked, owned, surrounded by the scent of sex. It fills his nostrils, musky and rich and entirely consuming. 

"Good boy," his master purrs. 

Martin's heart flutters, soaring at the praise as he is pulled into his owner's arms, basking in the feel of loving hands roaming possessively over his fever-hot skin.

He is barely aware as the cuffs are released from his ankles but he moans softly as he feels himself being lifted and rearranged, his weight coming to settle astride Douglas's lap as his master pulls him onto the sofa. There is a warm chest behind him and strong, muscular arms around his body and he nuzzles gratefully into his master's embrace. Eyes closed he lets his head fall back to rest on Douglas's shoulder, the rigid line of his owner's cock digging insistently into the small of his back. The shivery sweetness of passivity rolls through him and Martin sighs with desire as he feels his legs being parted, limbs splayed around the outside of Douglas's knees. His master spreads him wide open with his own body Martin is obliged to follow, vulnerable cock and belly left on display as hot, adoring kisses are pressed to his shoulder.

The words when they come are a growling, warm breath against Martin's ear.

"Look at you," his master murmurs. "My beautiful, obedient boy." One broad hand spans the full width of Martin's pectoral, nipple pushing into Douglas's palm as the other hand slides lower to wrap gently around the flaccid, bound length between Martin's legs. Arms still tied Martin can do nothing as Douglas holds the weight of his trussed cock in his fingers, fist curled, loosely circling the girth. Martin's breath turns to a shuddering sigh as Douglas licks a wet stripe up the delicate skin behind his ear.

"So sweet," he whispers. "How could anyone resist you?" He drags his thumb briefly over Martin's nipple, the fleeting contact making Martin hiss and tense in anticipation of his body's reaction. Rubberised studs dig like pins into the vulnerable head of his prick as his arousal grows and he whimpers in discomfort, shaft fighting the tight steel rings as need crests like fire. 

It hurts and Martin bites his lip and cringes, trying to curl in on himself as stout legs keep his thighs firmly parted. Douglas seems to ignore his distress, breathing in the sweat-damp warmth at Martin's hairline, kissing his temple as he rubs his thumb back and forth against the stiff peak of his boy's nipple. 

"It's why I keep you nice and safely locked up," Douglas murmurs. "So you never have to worry about doing this with anyone but me." He slides his curled fingers down lower, wrapping them around Martin's balls, inhaling sharply in excitement as he assesses the swollen, heavy tightness of them. 

"So hot," he says breathily. "Full, hard; they must be aching by now."

Martin nods wordlessly, shivering in Douglas's lap, the muscles in his abdomen trembling in anticipation as his owner idly strokes and pulls at his throbbing, sensitised testicles. 

"Do you want to ease the pressure?" Douglas asks. "Should I help you empty out your come at last?" He kisses Martin's temple, then his cheek, dropping his head to suck on Martin's bared throat as he spreads his palms flat over the taut, sweat-damp curve of Martin's hips. Douglas can't seem to stop stroking him, rubbing from knee to groin in greedy, possessive sweeps. "Consider it a reward for servicing our guest so nicely. There must be plenty building up. I could spread it all over your thighs and belly and up to these flat little tits-" He pinches Martin's nipples hard between his forefingers and thumbs, flattening and twisting the buds viciously and making Martin arch and squeal at the shocking pain of it, "-So everyone will know how well behaved you were for me this evening."

Martin lets out a strangled cry, something that sounds almost like "Please," stalling across his lips, the first coherent word Douglas has forced from his throat all evening.

"Yes," Douglas promises. "Yes. I will drain you dry."

He presses a searing kiss to Martin's pulse point, releasing his tortured nipples and letting his hands drop to wrap firmly around the back of Martin's knees. A firm pull yanks his legs up, the position splaying him wide and curling him almost in half, the action blatantly exposing Martin's naked little hole. It leaves him clearly angled for display and Martin sucks in a breath as Herc murmurs his approval from across the room.

"Herc," Douglas purrs lowly. "I think perhaps you should lend Martin a hand. Since he hasn't got any of his own."

"Delighted to," Herc replies. "I can't think of a more fitting recompense." His voice is thick like molasses and Martin thrashes feebly in Douglas's vice-like grip, spine arching as Herc kneels in the space between Douglas's legs. He slides a long, dry finger down the soft crease between Martin's buttocks. "Would you like me to stretch him out for you at the same time?" 

"Oh, why not. Lube's by the sofa," Douglas says. "Get him nice and wet, I have the urge to indulge in a good, long, fuck after this."

"A tantalising proposition," Herc murmurs. "He looks so deliciously distressed already."

Douglas licks Martin's ear, the prickle of stubble rasping against the delicate skin of Martin's throat. 

"God, look at you, you beautiful creature," Douglas purrs. "I could play with you for hours." His hands squeeze tighter around the back of Martin's knees, the thick ridge of his cock pushing insistently against Martin's tailbone. Martin strains futilely against the restraining hold and Douglas hums, hips rutting idly against the sweaty skin of Martin's back. "Squirm all you like," he growls. "I absolutely insist."

The first push of Herc's fingers comes without warning and Martin lets out a feeble gasp at the shock of penetration. The lube is cold and he tenses, back arching into a shudder as two long, capable digits sink knuckle deep into the hot, clenching tightness of Martin's arse. Lube slicks the way but the stretch and the feeling of invasion is inescapable, squirming pressure twisting and shifting as Herc pushes his fingers as deep as they will go. He withdraws only a fraction before sinking in again, wiggling the invading digits back and forth inside.

Martin whimpers and strains in Douglas's arms, teeth clenched and head thrown back as glazed eyes stare blindly at the ceiling. The sensation of Herc crooking his fingers is like a fluttering tap inside him, pads drumming against the front wall of his passage. He doesn't know if it's intentional but it sends shuddering vibrations quivering through the sensitised, eager nerves around his prostate. 

"Oh-" Martin chokes. His toes flex, curling spasmodically where they hang suspended in mid air and Herc twists his fingers again, corkscrewing into yielding flesh before splaying his digits wide and half-way pulling them out. The move stretches Martin's rim open enough to allow him to dribble lube directly onto the fingers still partially buried in the warm cavity beneath. 

The feel of it makes Martin thrash and whine, the stretch of three fingers this time pushing back into him with a wet, lewd squish. 

Behind him, Douglas nuzzles attentively at his bared throat, lips nibbling up to kiss and nip the softness of Martin's earlobe. His voice is a low, breathy rumble, hot and intimate as he murmurs praise against Martin's ear. 

"So responsive," he purrs and Martin whines and flexes impotently in his arms, as much in reaction to his master's voice as to the searching fingers inside him. "Lie still now. Be a good boy for me."

Martin's breath escapes on a shuddering sigh, so overwrought it's almost tearful and Douglas tightens his hold, drawing Martin's legs higher, straining him just a fraction more. "Relax for it," Douglas murmurs again. "Such a sight you are, taking it all so willingly."

The twist of Herc's hand smears Martin's passage generously with slick, fingertips rubbing his internal walls even as his thumb presses heavily into the delicate skin of Martin's perineum. It feels like a boulder sitting in the pit of his stomach, a rock on his bladder as he aches and throbs with the mounting pressure of it. It's like a fuse being lit as Herc blindly nudges his prostate, sharp enough that despite being kept forcibly flaccid the sudden and urgent need to come is unbearable.

Martin can feel tears beginning to gather at the corners of his eyes, chest rising and falling with rapid short pants. He can't control it, even as Douglas presses reassuring, gentled kisses against his shoulder, shushing him with soothingly murmured praise. Herc's fingers seem to zero in on his prostate with increasing frequency, a deep, sweeping pressure that focuses almost exclusively across the tender swell until he is rubbing it with a ruthless efficiency that borders on cruel. 

It jabs and aches through Martin like the fine edge of torture, the growing pressure engulfing his body like the rush of an orgasm slowly cresting in endless, creeping increments. Martin can physically feel the swollen fullness inside him; of viscous fluid pooling and aching to push free. It's like raw, throbbing heat being wound up and forced out through his cringing prick, soft flesh still twitching weakly in its cage. His cock is scarlet and pathetic in its prison, unable to grow hard even as pleasure burns deep, tender balls drawing up tight against the metal ring restraining them. It feels like pissing and coming at once when fluid finally begins to leak from the tip of his flaccid penis, a watery gush of pre-come welling forth at last in a painful, pulsing dribble.

Herc hums in satisfaction, leaning down to tongue the slit of Martin's cock, mouth sucking delicately at the meagre trail of cowper's fluid as he redoubles his efforts to torment Martin's insides. His thumb digs roughly behind Martin's balls, fingers rolling like a wave as he massages the front wall of Martin's passage. His touch seem to grow heavier, more forceful as he becomes certain of his target, and he pushes firmly into the tender muscle beneath his fingertips, rubbing deep, slow circles across Martin's prostate. Martin flinches hard in Douglas's grasp, back arching reflexively as he cries out, body finally purging itself as a thick, warm gush is forced out of him, pre-come flowing like drool from the tip of his cock.

"Please... please..." Martin knows he's crying, a full body shudder rolling through him, eyes squeezing shut as the pressure kneads unceasingly from within. "Need to come-" he gasps. "Need... augh! Please!"

"Oh, Martin," Douglas murmurs. "I said I would drain you dry, my darling. I never said anything about letting you come." There's affectionate amusement rich in his voice and Martin keens helplessly, tears of desperate pleasure streaming down his face as as the slow, thrusting stretch of Herc's fingers continues to push and roll between his legs like an unceasing wave of ecstatic agony. 

Martin almost shouts himself hoarse before it's over. It seems to take forever before the tide finally ebbs, like an eternity spent on the brink of release, fluid dribbling out of him in slow, spooling pulses. Orgasm never quite crests despite Martin's body spilling its load, muscles quivering in protest as Herc methodically milks him until he has nothing else left to give. Martin can't seem to force his eyes open enough to see but he can feel it in the increasingly hollow ache in his balls, the stream weakening and growing thin, the warmth of his own come dissipating as it slides down to dampen Herc's knuckles. His master has indeed allowed him to be drained dry, ownership imprinted on every last tactical, calculated abuse of his prick.

Despite it, Herc's fingers do not stop, unflagging as he continues to thrust with methodical determination. The kneading curl of Herc's hand feels like it's trying to force out every last ounce of fluid from Martin's body, regardless that his balls are spent, and the longer it goes on the more it _hurts_.

Martin's head begins to thrash on his master's shoulder, face taut with discomfort and it is only the grunt of his master's impatience, erection still rutting idly against Martin's buttocks, that seems to pause Herc in his ministrations. 

"My turn, I think," Douglas mutters. He presses his lips to Martin's pink-tipped ear.

"How about it, darling? Are you nice and wet for me?"

Herc carefully frees his fingers before squeezing in another flood of lube, and Martin finds himself unable to stifle a shuddering whimper, the sudden emptiness making him clench, hole stretched and gaping vulnerably. He feels himself being manhandled, jostled and lifted until the familiar, round head of Douglas's cock rubs searchingly over his slick, loosened rim. 

Douglas adjusts his grip, fingers digging into the backs of Martin's thighs as he lifts him upwards a fraction and then sinks him down, enough to allow just the bulbous head to breach him.

"Relax for me..." Douglas murmurs. "Good boy."

The push of it is exquisite, thick and hot and burning within him and Martin gasps helplessly as he is lowered, his body unstoppably penetrated, his tender, hurting insides plundered and filled anew. He has no strength left in him to struggle, the grinding push of Douglas's cock thick and stretching as the over-stimulated front wall of his passage is pulled tight in a way that leaves him weak and gasping and _full_. He can do nothing except submit as strong arms hold him tightly, moving him limply like a doll in counterpoint to the rutting snap of Douglas's hips. 

Martin lolls in his master's arms, shivering and overwhelmed, flinching with each thrust, glistening with sweat and beyond his own pleasure as Douglas pants and growls in his ear. He huffs out filth and praise in equal abundance, the sloppy wet slap of his hips meeting Martin's backside filling the silence around them. 

Douglas allows Martin's legs to drop at last, tight hands shifting to clutch at slender hips instead and grinding Martin down tighter against his lap until Douglas is buried as deep as it's possible to go. Martin's lips part on a feeble whine as he is breached ever more invasively, the rolling, insistent push sparking through nerves already stretched to the breaking point. Douglas bucks up sharply in response, clearly relishing the soft, fluttering warmth he has created, the quivering walls of Martin's tender hole clinging deliciously to his flesh. He purrs like it is blissful, wet and yielding and pliant, Martin's overstimulated body shivering and mewling on his master's lap. His boy is perfect, passive, beautiful in his distress and Douglas can only manage to jerk his hips once, then twice, before burying his face against Martin's shoulder. 

Douglas chokes out his orgasm even as he ruts greedily into Martin's arse, thick cock spilling deep into his boy's abused, hot passage. His arms wrap tightly around Martin's heaving, bare chest, thumbs finding and rubbing greedily over bruised, tender nipples. He squeezes the nubs, pulling and twisting them until Martin squeals and clenches down like a vice around his cock, Douglas milking every last ounce of pleasure from his boy's delightfully tormented body.

The embrace that follows is consuming and possessive, thick arms engulfing him like a blanket even as Martin trembles helplessly under the onslaught of sensation. He can feel Douglas's cock lodged inside him still, twitching and partially hard. Come and lube seep out of his dilated entrance, dampening the lap beneath him, his own genitals hurting and sticky with forced issue. He's wrung-out and milked dry but he still _aches_ with want, burning for the satisfying warmth of the orgasm he has so ruthlessly been denied.

He hears Herc clear his throat, Martin's eyes sliding barely half open, just enough to see that Herc's already re-dressed. A crooked smile graces his lips as he leans down to press a chaste, warm kiss against Martin's sweaty, cum-crusted cheek. 

"You're even more delightful than he said you were," Herc murmurs quietly. Another quick peck is pressed to Martin's temple as he rises. "Thank you, both of you. I'll see myself out."

Douglas grunts in confirmation, holding Martin tight and immobile against himself as Herc claps Douglas on the shoulder in parting. All that's left then is the silence, the tension in Martin's body idling like a meditative hum as Douglas finally grows soft enough to slip out of his sorely abused hole. 

Arms still tied and trapped between their bodies, Martin's fingers tense momentarily at the withdrawal.

"I should get you un-wound," Douglas murmurs.

Martin lets out a watery sigh, speech a strangely distant concept for a moment and he finds he has to work the words around his mouth experimentally before replying.

"Mm... not yet."

Douglas hums thoughtfully, strong hands rubbing assessingly up and down Martin's taut biceps. "Alright," he says. "A little while longer." He rubs a soothing palm down Martin's belly, stopping just short of his pubic hair. "We'll have to take this off though."

Martin shakes his head drowsily. "I don't want to."

Douglas kisses his shoulder, fingertip tracing the tight band still holding snug around the base of his boy's genitals and Martin flinches instinctively as Douglas tugs on it.

"This one isn't designed to be worn for long. I'm not going to injure you for want of the proper tools."

Martin leans his head back, rubbing his cheek against Douglas's shirt collar. "I'll try to come if you take it off," he moans. "I won't be able to stop myself."

"You know you're not allowed to," Douglas purrs. "No touching what's mine."

Martin shivers, writhing tremulously at his master's tone. "I know," he breathes. "But sometimes I want to do it anyway, even though I know I mustn't." He swallows roughly. "Sometimes I wish I could wear one all the time, then I wouldn't have to worry about it. I like it, knowing only you can touch it. Only you can-" His breath hitches and he cries out as Douglas flips the catch that releases the restraining ring. It forces a shudder from Martin's overwrought muscles, thighs tensing as the loops are carefully worked off, blood rushing back to his prick as Douglas cups his aching balls with a hot, work-roughened hand. The chastity cage makes a heavy thud as it lands in a heap on the carpet.

"You want that?" Douglas asks roughly. "Being locked up permanently?" He pauses for a moment, a faint edge of something awed and hungry in his voice when he continues. "Because I have one that would work, if that's what you want." 

He gives Martin's aching balls a gentle squeeze, smiling at his boy's faint whimper. "You have to be certain about it though. They make ones you can wear for weeks; Months even. But you won't be able to take it off if I don't unlock you, Martin, and there's no guarantee that I will. You won't be able to come unless I let you."

Martin swallows roughly, nodding even as he bares his neck in blatant submission. "You already don't let me," he says. "And I don't. I haven't touched myself in months. Not since I agreed to let you control it." He bites his lip, shuddering prettily as Douglas idly tugs at his foreskin. "I like knowing that it's just yours." 

Martin tilts his head, pushing closer to Douglas's warmth. "Wearing it would be like feeling that you're there all the time, even when you're away. Like you're holding my cock, reminding me to be good; that I belong to someone who wants me."

Douglas breathes deeply, fist enclosing Martin's half-hard prick possessively. He doesn't stroke it, just lets the blood-warm length of it sit in his palm, heavy and damp with sweat, tender pressure-lines still circling the delicate flesh. He would own this; Martin willingly surrendering possession of his most intimate flesh. It would be Douglas's to pleasure or punish as the whim occurred and the level of trust being placed in his hands with that gesture alone is not lost on him.

"Will you cage me, Master? Please?"

"Yes," Douglas says eventually. "Good God, yes."


End file.
